A Soldier's Poems: by Mihanel Pabon

Mihanel Pabon

Intrusive Thoughts

by Mihanel Pabon

It's a memory embedded 

in your brain

that's not so much a memory

as it is a stain.

No matter how long ago it was

when most will say, let it pass

You are not trying to remember it

you're trying to dismember it.

Normalcy becomes an illusion

for when everything seems to be all right,

when it appears you're winning the fight,

BOOM, a trigger appears.

Unfortunately, you never know 

when, 

where, 

or what

a trigger could be,

a smell, 

a sound, 

or something you see.

I could go on writing for untold pages

and write a manifesto for the ages,

but I just want you to understand

that I'm really trying

 against this intrusion

to take a stand.

I'm going to go straight to the core.

You see, I want to enjoy

this precious moment of normalcy.

It was all caused

by war.

Why I Am

Mihanel Pabon

I Am, so you can be

What you choose to be

I am, so no one in your way can get

And in comfort, your roots you may set

I am forever in your service

Sometimes I do get nervous

But that's part of who I am

That's my humanity

Which does not include vanity

I will do everything I've learned

To stop inhumanity

It's not in vain

To be proud of who you are

And from where you came

To always be true to the cause

Never ever seeking, or wanting applause

It's who I am

So you can be

Above all things, happy and free

My family I love very much

But as a human being

In one way, or another, everyone's life we touch

Thank God

They understand who I am

So the old can be happy and free

And the same way the young grow older

Is why I fulfill my destiny

I am

Soldier

About the Author:

Mihanel Pabon was 11 Bravo (grunt) and in Vietnam from January 27 to December 20, 1970.

He lives in Brooklyn, New York, with Elaine, his wife of forty years.  As he says, "Talk about deserving a medal -- I mean Congressional -- I was fortunate to find someone so strong."

Mihanel and Elaine have two daughters, Mandy and Tara, and a four month-old granddaughter, Lei-Lani Olivia. 

A lot of Mihanel's writings were the direct result of requests, which he customized. If you need the right words for anyone, or any situation, feel free to leave him a comment with your email address, so he can contact you.  He will be happy to try and help.

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

"Right or Wrong": by Jim Van Doren

Our Country - Right or Wrong

“Right or Wrong”

Jim Van Doren (2004)

“My country, right or wrong”?

It might be the title of a song

But for our People to be Strong

They need to know what’s Right, what’s Wrong.

Defending our Country is our absolute right.

But imposing our will – based on our might – 

Declares to the world that “Might makes Right”.

It puts our armed forces in an undeserved plight

As they question the instinct: “Fight or Flight”?

As a Citizen, what is my task?

As a Patriot, it’s my duty to ask.

As a Veteran, I will not only plead – 

I will demand of those elected to Lead:

What business have we in launching attacks

Based on suspicion, not founded on facts?

“Actionable Intelligence” must bear correlation

To hard Evidence with proven Corroboration.

Before launching any “pre-emptive” invasion,

We need hard proof, not just a persuasion

That the threat is more than a handy excuse

To sanctify our own “righteous” forms of abuse.

To question a leader who acts like royalty

Is our daily imperative, of utmost loyalty – 

To our Country, its People, and its Laws,

And to our culture, with all its flaws

But especially to those who’ve answered the call – 

Because they ... “All gave some, and some gave All”.

Jim Van Doren 

Dustoff Medic

Vietnam '65-'66

Also by Jim Van Doren:

Again and Again

"I was born in Ohio, but grew up in Vietnam."

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

A Soldier's Christmas: by Michael Marks

A Soldier's Christmas

A Soldier's Christmas

By Michael Marks

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight;
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight;
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
In perfect contentment or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear;
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near;
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold;
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light,
Then he sighed and he said "It's really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night.

"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line
That separates you from the darkest of times;
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

"My Gramps died at 'Pearl' on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram' always remembers;
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

"I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile;"
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue ... an American flag.

"I can live through the cold and the being alone
Away from my family, my house and my home;
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.

"I can carry the weight of killing another
Or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To insure for all time that this flag will not fall.

"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least
Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

"For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

Michael Marks
December 7th, 2000

In loving appreciation of the countless Americans who have and continue to serve in the Armed Forces and those who gave their lives for their country. Your sacrifices will never be forgotten.

We look forward to the day you come home. God bless and keep you always, and God Bless America.

Michael






“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

"Merry Christmas, My Friend"

Marine Christmas Santa

Merry Christmas, My Friend

By Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give,
And to see just who in this home did live.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
A sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen,
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.

I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I'd just read,
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan,
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
Owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.

Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
Because of Marines like this one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice.
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
My life is my God, my country, my Corps."

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still,
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
And covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
With eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.

Although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
And for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight.

But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
Said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all's secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
"Merry Christmas, my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight."

About the Author:

James M. Schmidt wrote this poem back in 1986 while a Lance Corporal stationed in Washington, D.C., serving as Battalion Counter Sniper at the Marine Barracks 8th & I under Commandant P.X. Kelly and Battalion Commander D.J. Myers [in 1986]. 

Schmidt hung this poem on the door of the Gym in the BEQ. When Colonel Myers came upon it, he read it and immediately had copies sent to each department at the Barracks and promptly dismissed the entire Battalion early for Christmas leave. 

The poem was placed that day in the Marine Corps Gazette, distributed worldwide, and later submitted to Leatherneck Magazine. 

Schmidt's original version, entitled Merry Christmas, My Friend, was published in Leatherneck (Magazine of the Marines) in December 1991, "Gyrene Gyngles," Page 79. 

As Leatherneck wrote of the poem's author in 2003: 

"Merry Christmas, My Friend has been a holiday favorite among 'leatherneckphiles' for nearly the time it takes to complete a Marine Corps career." 

After leaving the Corps, Schmidt earned a law degree and now serves as an entertainment attorney in Los Angeles and is director of operations for a security consulting firm.

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

The Christmas War: by James M. Hopkins

Our Side of the Christmas War 

The Christmas War

by James M. Hopkins

On Christmas Eve in '69
I watched our tracer bullets fly;

And in their flight

Their bright red light
Lit up the earth and sky.

Then from the dark,
From guns unseen,
Their shots flew back at us
Bright green!

And back and forth,
Throughout the night,
We fought the Christmas-colored fight...

(...back home, the happy children
Unwrapped gifts of toys...
Barbie dolls and little toy cars...)

...while we killed our brothers
In The Christmas War.


Copyright © 1995 James M. Hopkins



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Enough: by Lance Pinamonte

Reverence ... or Shame?

Hope you like, CJ...

Enough ...

For the people who give their lives to this nation,
then watch the same war in different name take more
For it's not enough ...

To those who die from the chemicals we lay down,
then we ignore the death for the profit
For it's not enough ...

When the waters rise above our heads, lands lost,
we shun those with the reason
For it's not enough ...

The wealthy grow to hate the poor, grow richer,
to where they hold the future of all
For it's not enough ...

A place where lies and hate take the place
all for the promotion of fear
For it is not enough ...

So we ask the question that lies in wait,
"When will we be free of these things?
When will it be ... enough?"

God bless America.

Lance

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30 Crewchief/Doorgunner Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

A Flag’s Declaration: by Doyle Watters

Betsy Ross and George Washington

A Flag’s Declaration

My nickname is Old Glory I’ve existed for over two hundred years.
The Star Spangled Banner described my story well at its creation.
Only I have observed every moment, from beginning to present.
The Boston Massacre marked the first casualty of our revolution.
A witness to blood, death and destruction beyond comprehension.
Duty, honor and country have remained foremost in my existence.
I embrace the wind and enshroud the spirits of those fallen for freedom. 

I am not merely a piece of cloth, I stand for liberty and justice. 

Red, White and Blue are my colors, chosen by my forefathers.
Valor and sacrifice, purity and innocence are woven into my stripes.
Vigilance, perseverance and justice lay deep in my bosom of blue.
Freedom of speech, religion and the press are my birthright.
These principles of the common man can make a nation great. 

My history is very young when compared to others. 

I have seen the brave generations of timeless defenders.
Those willing to sacrifice for a cause they might not be able to realize.
To this day my soldiers continue to overcome adversities at will.
Through suffering and death they pledge utmost loyalty and trust.
With the grave knowledge that war consumes souls and haunts spirits.

Those who carry me into battle best understand the price paid. 

Draping the caskets of my youth, I am aware of freedom’s cost.
Disrespected by world citizens, I fervently offer respite from tyranny.
I shall not waver, for I keep a watchful eye on that which surrounds me.
My strength can not be destroyed for it lies in the hearts of my people.
Peace is all I strive to accomplish, as history continues its march. 

I ask that you honor, respect and be faithful to me in times of uncertainty.

Never be afraid of expressing your love for me openly and willingly.
Think of those that made your freedom a reality, the Veterans of America.
In return I will be a symbol, letting mankind know democracy lives.
I’ll be strong when faced with calamity, offering solidarity for peace.
I am an idea, a physical entity representing hope, opportunity and freedom.

CSM Doyle Watters 

Vietnam Veteran
US Army Retired

Other Articles by Doyle Watters

Sharing the Burden, Vet to Vet

Saving Tears

The Defender

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

A Shau Ripcord: by Gary Jacobson

A Shau Valley at Daybreak

A Shau Valley is what comes to mind when you think of dark, imposing jungle. 

The beautiful A Shau Valley with leech infested streams, jungle cliffs, meager animal trails covered with rotted tree roots, 60-degree slopes, 140 varieties of poisonous snakes, the most unusual insects in the world, and jungle so dense at the bottom of the ridge lines that you could not see more than a few feet in front of you.

Perhaps because it was so inaccessible, this was "key terrain" for the North Vietnamese Army (NVA), and one of the North's major supply lines into the South for much of the war. Nicknamed “Ah Shit Valley,” this was the setting for some of the war's bloodiest operations.

Ripcord was a Firebase that the 101st Airborne attempted to establish near the end of the war, in a bold offensive planned to destroy NVA supply bases in the mountains overlooking the A Shau Valley.

Fought during the American withdrawal from Vietnam, the Battle for Ripcord turned out to be the last multi-battalion, high-casualty engagement between infantry units of the U.S. Army and North Vietnamese Army.

Ripcord was the biggest single battle of 1970, and an engagement even more costly to the division than the infamous Hamburger Hill action of 1969.

The NVA, by taking the fight to Ripcord before the 101st could launch its offensive, were able not only to disrupt the planned offensive, but to inflict heavy casualties on the rifle companies operating around Ripcord.

NVA mortarmen inflicted heavy casualties among the artillery batteries positioned atop the firebase, and enemy anti-aircraft crews played havoc with medevac and resupply helicopters.

The 101st finally withdrew, and B-52’s bombed Ripcord into oblivion.

Creek in A Shau Valley

A Shau Valley

Death walks this shadowed alley
Where the rain never stops
Fierce
In rustic tangled wood
Inaccessible
Nigh impenetrable
Wall-to-wall
Dense obstructive green
Concealing well the malignant
Virulent rebel
Malevolent NVA
Warriors in the jungled screen
Sprayed with toxins obscene
Leach infested streams
101st Airborne
Enveloped by the valley
Searching
For hostiles...

Hostile
Men look to kill men
Enmeshed in hate
Murderously filled with it
Boys from both sides secreting furies
To poisonously harm
Boys on the other side
Conducting half-blind
Clashes contending for the right
To life
Snarled by evil
Fierce nose to nose
So quickly lost
In the darkning wild lair
Setting the knotty jungle snare
Initiating each other into hell.
Battling for the A Shau throne

Ripcord
Twisted forest whipcord
Is the rain never going to stop?
Obsessed generals,
In pitched battle for control
Vying for one last victory
One last gasp
Last chance for glory in this war
To hone their skills
In the Nam’s last dance
Before the war is through
To themselves console
Before withdrawal
Before Vietnamization.

Obsessed generals,
Playing God, by God!
Pumping technology
Into gnarled greenwood
Seeking an edge they thought
They’d win
A grunt’s life catapult
Flung into the fray
In the midst of infantry foes
With Charley
Slugging it out toe to toe...
Filling the road
On the pathway to hell...
“Whatcha gonna do,
Send me to Nam?”
If we only knew
Life there in Hell
Known as the A Shau
Was dependant on the gun
Under a blistering sun...
Blistering our innocence...

Look to skies supernal
For rescue by the eternal...
But find no relief infernal
As in multifaceted battalions
Sneakin' and peekin',
The latest in a series
Of Long
Hot
miserable
Days...
In verdant jungle dark
Many men lay slaughtered
Thrown at each other
Torn from sacred life
Unto sanctified death
Down in the valley
Mid matted corkscrew
With a considerable body of troops...
Not ours
Where life could vanish
In a twinkling...

Is the rain ever going to stop?
Patrolling the dark A Shau
Slip and slide up one hill
Skim down the other side
In fevered breath
Awaiting
Fated death
Ah shit...
Fresh prints in the muddy track
Everyone on edge
Sniff the air for waiting ambush
Could this be the day we die?
Is the rain ever going to stop?

Is the rain ever going to stop?
Running in rivulets red
Flowing
Everywhere endless
Pop, pop, pop,
Pesky VietCong
Fire a couple rounds and di di
Harassment maddening
Frustrated
Taut jawed
Barbed wire lips...
Clash and dash
Get adrenalin roaring
Then bring it back down
No one around
Charley
Blends with the shadows
Until the next turn in the trail
Frustrated...
Waiting for “show time...”

Secure another LZ
On the highground
Nestled in rocks on the ridgeline
Before fast closing dark
Just another wet miserable day
As a grunt
A groundpounder
My God...a shortimer...
Listening to cricket rhythms
Hearing something small
Moving in underbrush
Harsh alarm of a monkey
Nightbirds singing low
Trembling rage still eats at me
Protected
Under the surface below...

I hate the quiet time
Too much time
For thinking
For fearing
Rivulets of sweat merging
With tears from my eyes
Trying to discern
The deadly sounds....
Again adrenalin pumping...
Be absolutely quiet
In this life or death moment...
Can anyone hear
My primal scream?
Is the rain never going to stop?
Napalm blossom
Good morning Vietnam!
Another routine morning
Check for leeches
Dislodge other crawlies
Tend your jungle rot
No such thing as dry
Clear booby traps
And trips
Check claymores
See if they've been turned
By those practical jokers
Tricky VietCong

Try to calm
Stark fear stifling
Set jangled nerves
To survive another day
Saddle up that heavy pack
Loaded with lots of things
That go boom...
Clean the mud off your rifle
Y’wanta make it home?
It’s going to be a long
Long day
Expecting the enemy to open up
On every rise
At every bend in the trail
To bring on the hurt
Make boiling blood pump...
Another adrenalin dump...

Still we make the turn
Take each forsaken step
Past trembling bush
Over muddied ground
Past silent sound
God only knows why...
Or how...
Each minute dragging by
Seems like a year...
Playing hide and seek with the Cong
The stakes in this game
So high....

Heroic grunts
Negotiating hell and shadow.
Good men
Brave men
Beloved men
Brothers...
Lost in obsidian thoughts
Slowly dying as former companions
Omnipresent jungle closing in
Chilling hot
Sweet and sour
Surrounded within...
Napalm
In this bamboo wood
You can't find the Vietcong
Unless he wants to find us.
Napalm will ferret him out...
I’d rather be in Hell
Can’t be any hotter than this
But perhaps we’re already there
Knocking at the southern gates...
Look at the FNG
How long is this one gonna last?
Oh how fragile
These men of war...

As NVA assaulted
Sloping mountaintop
Left no choice but to bail
Out of the fiasco
Now as we left
That blood soaked ground
Picked up by the Huey’s
Wearied unto death...

Turn out the lights
The parties over...
Look out your six
Charley hates to see you go...
Wave goodbye
It’s closing time...
As gunships blast surrounding hills
Watch Uncle Sam’s parting gift
Given by high-flying B52’s
Leaving nothing for the enemy
Bombing Ripcord into extinction
Napalming it
Like it never was...

Gary Jacobson

Gary Jacobson
Combat Infantryman
1st platoon
B Co 2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry
Vietnam '66 - '67







“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

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A Warrior's Dream: by Roger Sanchez

Quang Nam Province, I Corps, So. Vietnam, July ‘70

A Warrior's Dream


In deep slumber I lay many years after my war

An American Patriot who answered the call

My war was not the one fought for independence

Nor the one fought at San Antonio

Yes, it was not the one to end all wars

Nor was it the big one where freedom hung by a thread



I was not at the Chosen Reservoir in Korea

So many had gone before me to stand for freedom

But not any freedom, but American freedom

It is an Ideal and type that many seek

Is was an ideal born of right spirit

The land of the free, the home of the brave



In dreams I still walk the rice paddies of Vietnam

My squad walks behind me spread out and watchful

I do not see them as clear as I once did

We are walking in a fog that sweeps in from nowhere

It is cold and wet and voices seems to emanate from it

It is the voices of those gone before looking for the sunlight



And yet from this dream I understood that freedom is not free

There is no true sunlight in war, or full days of rest

There is no let up against evil that lust for power and domination

A horrible truth I had learned at such a young age

That evil force, must be met with righteous force

While I wish with all my soul for only peace

I understood that it would never truly be



I wake up in a cold sweat and yell out into the darkness

My conscious mind slowly brings me back

And I think clearly, Iraq, Afghanistan, other wars in between

I see the faces of our young men and women

And in sadness I realize, we are still at war

                                                   

GySgt Roger A Sanchez Sr.

U.S. Marine Corps Retired 1969-1991

Copyright © June 2014, All Rights Reserved

Also See Roger's Post:  Author of: "Black Dragon Red Sun, The Vietnam War"

Available at Amazon

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Do you have an opinion, or a comment, you would like to share about this post? Click on the comment button.

Poem: "Waves", by John Puzzo

Please play the video while you read ...

Waves

by John Puzzo

They are like the waves washing on shore,

58,237 of them. 

They just keep coming from way out there, 

until they wash up over your feet

and gently remind you of who they are

and who they were.

Sometimes the storms come 

and the waves are not so gentle.

That’s when they’re grabbing us, and shaking us,

to make us remember.

Then they slide back into the ocean.

But they’ll be back.

They never really left.

Sometimes they leave something behind

and it takes your breath away.

“Here comes mine. There he is.”

And just as quickly he comes to 

Fill your heart again, reaching you there 

on the shore.

Then he recedes once again. Back into the sea. 

58,237 others are making their way back to the shore

to meet theirs.

It takes a long time for 58,237 waves 

to come against the shores of our memory, 

where we wait to greet them.

But that’s alright. They’ll be back.

They don’t ever really leave us.

It would be like the sea itself suddenly evaporating.

They are the sea.

Those who only knew them on these shores,

the ones who sent them off –

“Be Safe. I will miss you. Write to me? 

Let me know if you need anything.”

And you never forget that face. 

Out there in the sea, with others of his kind 

he looks back at you,

still there, on the shore, with your feet in the sand.

You are the last thing he sees, too.

They share something very precious 

in the sea of sacrifice where they live now.

The ocean will never die. 

It will keep sending them back to us

to remember.

Waves.

Add caption

John J. Puzzo

K Company (Ranger)

75th Infantry (Airborne)

United States Army 1968 - 1971

John is the published author of two books about Vietnam.  He is a brilliant public speaker, and an all-around good guy from Connecticut.  

"The Highlanders In the Viet Nam War"

"Vietnam and Hollywood"

Other Articles by John Puzzo:

Humor in Vietnam

The Lantern

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.